38 The Funhouse by Dean Koontz

Author:Dean Koontz
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9780425142486
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1980-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

He nodded again. He was rigid, sickly white. He appeared to be overreacting to her admonitions. He didn't look like a boy who was facing his stern mother, he looked more like a boy facing certain death. He looked as if he were convinced that she was going to take him by the throat and kill him.

The terror in Joey's face jolted Ellen.

I'm just like Gina.

No! That was unfair.

She was only doing what must be done. The child needed to be disciplined and given guidance. She was merely fulfilling her duty as a parent.

Just like Gina.

She pushed that thought aside.

"Lie down," she said.

Joey obediently slid under the covers once more.

She went to the nightstand and put her hand on the lamp switch.

"Did you say your prayers?" "Yeah," he said weakly.

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

~ Tomorrow night you'll say more prayers than usual."

, "Okay-" ' Y'll say them with you to make sure you don't miss a word of them." "Okay, Mama She switched off the light.

In a small, uncertain voice, he said, "I didn't know it was you, Mama."

aGo to sleep." "I thought it was Amy."

Suddenly she wanted to reach down and lift him from the bed and clasp him to her bosom. She wanted to hug him tight and kiss him and tell him everything was all right.

But as she began to lean down toward him, she remembered the Halloween mask.

When she had seen that fearsome countenance, she had thought that the demon in Joey had surfaced at last. She had been sure--just for a second or two, but long enough to have her complaisance blasted to bits--that the long-expected transformation had occurred. Now she was afraid that she would lean down and hug him and encounter another sneering troll's face--except that this time it would be no mask.

Maybe this time he would grab her and pull her close, the better to tear out her stomach with his sharp and gleaming claws.

The torrent of love washed through her and out of her, leaving a barren wasteland composed of uncertainty and fear. She was afraid of her own child.

Seesaw. Seesaw.

Abruptly she was aware, once more, of how drunk she was.

Rubberjointed.

Unsteady. Dizzy and vulnerable.

Beyond the vague glow of the night-light, the darkness pulsed and shifted and edged nearer, as if it were a living creature.

Ellen turned away from the bed and quickly left the room, weaving through the shadows. She closed Joey's door behind her and stood for a moment in the upstairs hallway. Her heart was slamming like a loose, windblown shutter in a storm.

Am I mad? she asked herself. Am I just like my own mother--seeing the work of the Devil in everyone, in everything, in places where it doesn't really exist?

Am I worse than Gina?

No, she told herself adamantly. I'm not crazy, and I'm not like Gina.

I've got good reason. And at the moment . . . well . . . maybe I've had too much to drink, and I'm not thinking straight.

Her mouth was dry and sour from the booze, but she wanted another drink.

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